A Far Cry: Hammering the Sickle
by The Khaos Jester
Summary: Classic Light versus Dark. Adam is thrown into a blizzard, in the middle of the Russian Winter, of a rebellion in a war torn piece of the country. Hammer must endure test after test, fight after fight, kill after kill, in this gritty challenge. A young warrior has stepped on one of the harshest playgrounds the world has to offer. The Wolf of Light has come home and he's taking it.
1. Prologue

_**DISCLAIMER-**_ Far Cry and it's characters and unique places therein, is a vision of publishers,** Ubisoft, **developers, **Ubisoft Montreal**, and producers **Crytek**. Under the Copyright Act of 2015. Also, protected under this Act, is the law of Fair Use, meaning Hammering the Sickle, _Vostochnyy Parooski_ and _Zapadnyy Parooski_, it's odd places and characters contained within, is the idea of one, die-hard fan, **The Khaos Jester** (**Kristopher J. Adams**). Pirating _**ANY**_ of the aforementioned items, is admissible and **WILL**, be used in the court of law. **Cover Art** by a very talented artist, whom I shall find the author to and post proper contribution where it's needed.

Author's Note- It's good to be back. Enjoy, as always, I am here for your entertainment.

Special Thanks- Publishers **Ubisoft**, developers **Ubisoft Montreal**, and producers **Crytek**, for bringing to life such a brilliant series. R, a knowledgeable adviser, & D, go to cheerleader, Dvnprt. To the Dms Family, a constant inspiration. Dedicated to 391, this one's for you, doll.

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><p><span>A Far Cry<span>

Hammering the Sickle

Prologue-

A winter so infamous, it halted not one, but two selfish dictators. No ally to this chilling wrath, far more than evil it fells. For some odd found reason, he decided to come here in this harsh time, to Russia. One of the largest, highly elevated, mountainous countries of the Eastern World. Smacked right into the harshest age of the year, Adam Burgess had come _home_.

Adam sat on a long bus cramped to the brim with people. The bus sat in the middle of four, two in front another two in back, heavily armed and armored escorts. One could guess he stepped into what another could call a _rebellion_. He had met the band of rebels while hitchhiking on a cold, deserted road. He at least managed to flag them over and offered to pay for a lift.

The convoy was transferring a group of beaten civilians out of a war torn Western Russia. Though he was waived of the fee, incredibly grateful, Adam charged onto the bus full of warm bodies. The rebels introduced themselves as, _Ognennogo_, and they told him it was a _shit time to be touring_. Adam couldn't find the meaning in the name, he had long lost his heritage to the Americas. It may have been his home country but he didn't remember a wink of it.

Whilst minding the hardened, yet frightened individuals, Adam pulled a small collapsed note free from his inner jacket pocket. It was his mother's deathbed scrawling. She had birthed him in Russia but moved to America when he was only a babe. A reason never foretold, until a clue scratched itself on some parchment:

_"You are a king, my son. Forgive my lack of attention. The Bear has done this. The Throne is yours. Take it back."_

_- Mom, I guess_

Adam's mother had always been cryptic, even when she wasn't falling off her gourd. He mostly raised himself. While his mother enjoyed her crack, he saw himself to school. Even coming to the point to slinging stolen goods from his mother's store, _only_ the green stuff, she would mix in concoction, whilst he was high school to pay the bills. Some how, his mother was always _well_ supplied.

Adam always figured he had come from Russia. His mother would never tell him about his heritage but she gave subtle hints; chatting silently on the phone with someone in the language, when she thought he wasn't around or speaking about the country in her sleep.

Adam was raised American, red, white and blue, true and through. He worked at a local diner, an honest and good person despite his past endeavors. Do not mistake him. He has enough _bad_ to get things _done,_ when the _good_ is just not good enough. He had quit his job and scrounged enough paper to see himself to this torturous cold land. His boss was a dick anyway.

Adam kept telling himself that as he shivered the note back to its place. Even with the packed heated _units,_ the cold cut its way into the bus. He turned and scratched at the frost on the window. It took some doing but he managed a peek into the outside world.

Suddenly, Adam saw something _flash_ against the light drifting snow. He heard, _heard_ through all the chatter and engines, a loud, yet faint whistle. An explosion erupted from the front most GAZ Tigr, annihilating it and everyone inside. Another whistle, _"RPG!"_ he heard a rebel roar, moments later the rear most Tigr found itself in inferno, sending shrapnel chopping into the other rear Tigr, he heard screams from the armor and more rogue shrapnel came shattering to the back windows of the bus.

Everyone was screaming now. A rebel yelled, _"Eto Drako! Peremeshcheniye! Tank?!" _Adam turned just in time to a wild blur approaching the front of the bus, where the cry had originated. Sure enough, a large painted black and red camouflage, T-90 armor was crushing the last most frontal Tigr underneath its treads. He turned to the back, as instinct foretold, a twin T-90 followed suit of the first and devastated the final most escort in similar fashion.

The bus door banged open, _"Vse ot avtobusa, teper'__!" _the driver roared. No one moved, who could blame them, they were all terrified. Tanks idled at their flanks. Now, dozens of soldiers gathered at both sides of the bus, armed to the teeth and looking inhospitable. One could hear helicopters chopping overheard. Adam swore he could hear a faint jet engine as well. Some soldiers started to shoot out the other windows alongside the sides of the bus. No one was hurt, screaming, but unharmed. _"Get. Off. My. Bus," _the driver commanded, before long, one by one, each person stood, starting from the front, lined up and began slowly, ever so slowly, stepping off the bus, where they were dragged into a group by the soldiers.

Adam took his turn and rose up into the line. He couldn't help himself, he kept turning his head to look out the now, windowless, windows. The soldiers just stood there in tight knit lines, neatly, all in rows. Merely holding their weapons, never taking their gazes from the bus, unless the ones carting off the civilians into the group. The armor at the bus' flanks hadn't moved an inch.

Adam reached the front of the bus, despite the freezing temperatures, he was sweating. The last person in front of him stepped off and was torn away. Slowly as possible Adam took the two steps off. As soon as his foot hit the ground he was pulled off to the side, away from the group, and his hands were bound behind his back. He was shoved forward, onward into the of soldiers. He heard a cry and the sound of someone hitting snow.

Adam turned back and a man from the bus was groveling on his knees to a soldier. The uniform brought his weapon up and harshly beat it against the innocent's face and then kneed him back into with the rest of the group. "_Otpravit' eti lokhi v shakhty!_" the officer directed and stomped up to chat with a soldier staying with Adam's own personal guard, it seemed, a moment later the officer found something to laugh about from the soldier he conversed with.

"_Vynesti!_" a soldier called. The soldiers herded the group turned prisoners to the back of a heavy transport engine due south, the tanks spun north up the road. The remaining soldiers packed into a GAZ Vodnik to each themselves and split both north and south.

Adam was, again, pushed forward by a soldier still on his six. At least a pack of a dozen soldiers still sat and watched him. He was suddenly blindfolded and then pushed more harshly onward this time.

Adam heard the soldiers part around him, chattering their native language. Whispers of intrigue followed him as he was lead, trudging on through cold, dense snow. The pack and Adam only had to walk a short chilling distance.

A loud _bang,_ a door was kicked open. "Welcome to Russia!" a resident accent hailed, "and get rid of that fucking blindfold," the blinding disappeared. Adam didn't have time to take in his surroundings. A large form had already turned heel and was inside a small building, laid before Adam.

Once more, shoved into the building. The lights switched on, a stainless steel table with two similar fashioned chairs sat in the middle of the large floor. Crates lined the walls and the soldiers followed Adam inside. The building was well heated and welcomed by all. The form he had saw earlier, now sat at the table across from the empty chair, which Adam was sat into. The soldiers took off their gloves, warmed their hands and rested themselves on the crates.

Adam studied the man before him very closely, he carried a seemingly, familiar face, he knew this man. The brute of a human cracked open a bottle, Adam assumed _vodka_, took a long swig and slid it over to Adam. "What's wrong?" the man asked passively, noting Adam unreasoning the potato-water, "don't like the drink?"

_"My hands..." _Adam hacked to help clear his throat, "my hands are bound," he said clearly, yet meekly.

_"Chto?!_ Are you fucking serious? _Iz bav'tes ot nikh__!"_ the man roared at the soldiers, Adam's bonds were quickly cut, he messaged his wrists gratefully, _"Der'mo Iisusa!_ This is my _brother..."_

_"Huh?"_ was all Adam could mutter.

"Of course you don't know," the man gazed at him through dark brown eyes. He had a dark full, fuzzy beard, with a mess of medium-short brown hair. "I am your _brother,_ Adam. Blood by blood. Through and through. You are _Butonvik._"

"_But-on-vik_?" Adam questioned, cocking his head and gazing quizzically back at the man.

"What? _N'yet! Buu-toan-veek!_ It's your name too! _Learn it_," the man snatched the bottle back and took another long swig, he wore black clothing fitting to the according weather, "who do you think you are," the man gasped and tilted again for another go.

"Adam Burgess," the young man cringed.

_"Burgess?!" _the man chortled through his teeth, "you think your name is Burgess?" he seemed in hysterics now. He slammed the bottle to the table and started pounding the sleek silver surface with his fist. "I am Drako," the man gasped for air, "Butonvik. _You are _Adam Butonvik. We are brothers of one son of bitch, Buton Savnov. Crime lord to all of _Rossiya_."

_"Butonvik...?" _Adam thought, he admired the bear of man before him. The shockingly realization is he resembled closely to this man. Without the beard, not quite built as such, but still fit. He had him greatly in height and build but this man was his brother.

"Butonvik," Drako gave his long lost brother a broad smile. The smile went as quickly as it came, "search him," he stated. A soldier removed Adam's backpack, another stood him up and began thorough pat down and seizure of all the contents in his clothes, including the _note_. All of which was turned in Drako.

The soldier with the backpack turned the bag over and spilled the contents to the floor. Namely fruit and given supplies, _his pink toothbrush!_ All, rested on the ground. "Are you _fucking_ serious? _Idyot! _You bruised his fruit! Come here!" Drako, obviously furious, snapped his fingers and pointed to his own boots. The soldier solemnly stepped over and removed his helmet. Drako's reach was just out, the slap was felled lazily to the soldier's face, _"come here!"_ The soldier bent over and offered his complexion, this time Drako backhanded him hard enough enough to send the soldier among the lowly surface with the fruit. Drako pulled some money from one of his many coat pockets and tossed the cash over to the grounded soldier. "Go buy him some more. The good shit. None of that market dung."

Drako placed the classic face palm and rested his arms on the table. "The _hospitality..._" he seethed, "I am sorry. I've been a rotten host. Namely, thanks to these _fucks!_" He chided his men and pulled a pack of cigarettes, lighting one, he also offered Adam, which the brother promptly declined. Drako sat in a deep thought for a moment, before turning to the pile of lint and the small note settled in it. He snatched the paper and freed his spectacles and looked down through his glasses at the parchment.

Drako sighed and gave Adam a solemn glance. He lit his light and settled the note over the fire. When it was well flamed, he let it fall to the floor. "Our _mother..._" he put his glasses to the table, "as I _sure_ you know, was a useless, crack head. Abusing everything in the books. I should know too. I fed her habit. Do _not_ give me that look, she was a venomous whore and deserved to die like the snake." Drako frowned at Adam and shook his head, "she would call me always, when she was at her highest peak. Pay, no, attention to her, Adam. As you always have. We can still, very well be, _brothers._ Come with me and you won't have to take back anything."

Drako held out his hand across the table, willing Adam to take it. Adam was hesitant, naturally. "Why I should I?" he asked keeping his hand in tight nervous fists.

Drako smirked, "Father always prided you as _Hammer_. Right _then,_ when you were just born. Yet, he wanted another son to call _Sickle_. Leaving his first born broken and shunned. I won't deny you, like I denied him, like he denied me. I reached farther than he could have ever imagined. Sure, _Russia_, is divided into anarchy and democracy, but I control it _all._

_Vostochnaya Rossiya_: A place for the hard and by the wealthiest side. I rake in _billions_ a year alone with the west part. _Zapadnaya__ Rossiya_: A place that gives _back_ to the country. Keeping the land fed, prosperous, and in comfort.

You _cannot _have one, without the other, brother. I have struck a _balance_ like this world has ever seen; and it _never_ will. Do not worry about politics, this is why democracies have presidents, fat cats, and the _people._ So, I just pay all those fat fucks on capital hill to work for me and handle all their other operations. I am the money. _Natasha_ and anyone forth coming is my helping hand. Them and congress shit-eaters. Along with many others. Why the hell is it all so complicated... and _weird?"_ Drako asked curiously cocking his head over, squinting his eyes and finished with his persuasive speech.

Adam was startled, beyond astonished, this man had one the most largest, well armed, countries of the Eastern World, _right under lock and key!_

"Now, _Adam,_ I hold my hand to you, again. I will _show you control,_ beyond even that of your wildest _dreams_. _Please_, be my brother in this." Adam, still so hesitant, slowly reached out. Drako grew a slight smile. Several crashes happened at once, followed by loud _hisses._

_"Kurit'!" _a soldier cried out. There must have been several smoke bombs, the entire building was filled with blinding grey inside moments. Adam stood coughing his lungs free from his body. Someone patted him and began dragging him away.

Adam was thrown back into this ice cold world and a helicopter currents beat against him. He looked up at a man stepping out of the chopper whence it reached its hover zone. The man even more built than that of Drako walked forward and slapped Adam on his shoulder, nearly bulling him over. The young man wheezed and rarely had time to catch his breath, before being shoved, _again_, toward the flight vehicle. "We are the _Fireheart,_" the man called into Adam's ear, he guided him onto the helicopter, which promptly took off.

"Welcome to Russia, _Hammer_!" The man seated himself, then slamming the sliding door behind them. _"Brother of Sickle_, I am Viktir. You can either fight with Fireheart or get the _fuck_ out of Russia!"

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note<span>: _I'm Only Joking!_

Translation Page (From the big G. Best I got, sorry.):

_Eto Drako! __Peremeshcheniye! Tank?! - _It's Drako! Move! Tank?!

_Vse ot avtobusa, teper'! -_ Everyone off the bus, now!

_Otpravit' eti lokhi v shakhty! - _Send these fuckers to the mines!

_Vynesti!_ - Move out!

_Vodka -_ Very little water

_Chto?! -_ What?!

_Iz bav'tes ot nikh__! -_ Get rid of them!

_Der'mo Iisusa! -_ Jesus shit!

_Rossiya -_ Russia

_Idyot! - _Idiot!

_Zapadnaya Rossiya - _Western Russia

_Vostochnaya Rossiya - _Eastern Russia

_Kurit'! -_ Smoke!


	2. Act One, Chapter One

A Far Cry

Hammering the Sickle

Act One - The Narcissistic Cannibal

Chapter 1 - The Introductions

It was sometime before they reached an outpost and began the descent to land on a building. Viktir hadn't said a word since his ultimatum and Adam had not yet answered him. When they had all wheels to the ground Viktir had the door opened and stepped out while the chopper powered down. He gestured for Adam to get out and said, "this is _Brokni_, home to Fireheart. Come, I wish to introduce to you to the commander of rescue, long ranged tactics, and guerrilla warfare."

Brokni was a small town settled at the top of a ridge, it had shabby metal sheet walls and an equally worn gate looking_ thing_ with a road leading out to a white snow fallen land. It carried one, lone sniper tower. Shaded against the falling crystals, in the far distance, Adam spotted a natural ridge line. It stretched all the way across between to huge, mountainous ridge lines. Brokni was huddled right at the end of a natural built fortress.

Inside the grounds three heavy plumes of smoke could be seen against the precipitation. Two, not to far out from the head quarters, were set northeast and southeast out of Brokni. In what seemed like a brawling stare down, straight east from the mountain town, was the third smoke stack.

"Who's that...?" Adam questioned having to step lively to compensate for Viktir's long strides. It seemed the man was leading him to a small, banner hut with a short, scrap built radio tower.

"My sister, _Viktirya,_" Viktir said, leaving the poor fellow behind in his wake.

"Okay, who are _you...?_" Adam asked, keeping a short, calm pace now. He felt suspicious of Viktir's form. He had a short black hair and a gruff beard, akin to Drako's.

"I've told you, _Viktir._ I lead the infantry, the handful I got. I run _ushi v der'me__, mediki_ and I am in charge of communications throughout Fireheart, if we had any that is," the man grumbled, "might as well have _golubi_, if they wouldn't freeze to death." Viktir had led him to the banner hut. On the banner was an insignia of a orange wolf's face, tribal style, a blue hammer embroidered on the forehead. The background was an awesome blood red hue.

Viktir hauled open the heavy steel door and motioned Adam to go first. Adam nodded, with no hesitation, this time, he stepped inside. The hut was dimly lit with only a table, a large, sprawling map and a young, focused looking, black fair haired woman. An end table rested behind her with a radio and which scrambled nonsensical chatter.

Viktirya looked up, eyes going wide at the sight of Adam. "_Durak!_ What is the Hammer doing here? _Seychas__? Iz vsekh vremen!_" She chided the rest viciously in the common tongue.

Viktir hushed his sister, "he's here to prove himself to our cause."

"_Kak vy mozhete byt' tak uvereny__,_" a statement, rather than a question. Viktirya glared at her brother through the slits of angry eyes.

"He wouldn't have walked through the door, otherwise, sister. If he _ne imel,_ I would have shot him," Viktir told her, no emotion giving him away. He was quite serious.

Viktirya looked to Adam, he nodded, "I guess, I am here to help."

"Loving the enthusiasm," the commander sighed, rested her hands on the table and thought on the map. "Here's what _vy_ can do," she walked over to a hidden crate, opened it and freed a crossbow. "Take these," she shoved the weapon into Adam's arms, after folding the map, she handed it and her talkie to him, as well.

Adam hesitantly secured the crossbow's strap about his shoulders and took the items, "Drako has fifteen, _pyatnadtsat'__,_ I said it slow for you, communication towers strewn throughout _Zapadnaya Rossiya_. Meanwhile, we have _nikto_, get there, take out any issues along the way and reroute them all to us. Drako uses the towers to keep his machine well oiled and up to date. Mind yourself,_ Bibleyskiy Tiran_ has _mnogo_ of business and _mnogo_ of teeth out there. _Dokazyvat'_ your worth to yourself, before you even _dumat'_ about proving your shit to us... The hell you looking at _mne_ for?! _Sdelayte eto__!" _Viktirya turned Adam heel and shoved him to the door.

Adam started toward the door before he was stopped by Viktir. "Be careful, Hammer. there's _mnogo_ more than the _Sila Molot_ out there. We have tigers, bears, dogs the _razmer_ of bears, very territorial wolves... _bol'shiy_, than bears, not to mention; leopards, _rosomakha_, and some horny, wild ox. Oh, and reindeer fight back. With _etot dolbannyy zima_, they're hardly the least of your worries. Stay _teplyy_ and watch your _der'mo_. You'll be alright." Viktir's grin was somewhat goofy, pushed out the door and having it slammed behind him, Adam stepped back into the this ice cold world.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note:<span> _Sympathy for the fallen angel!_

Translation Page:

_Ushi vi der'me - _Deep shit

_Mediki - _Medics

_Golubi - _Pigeons

_Durak! - _Fool!

_Seychas? -_ Now?

_Iz vsekh vremen! - _Of all times!

_Kak vy mozhete byt tak uvereny - _How can you be so sure

_Ne imel - _Had not

_Vy -_ You

_Pyatnadtsat' - _ Fifteen

_Nikto - _None

_Bibleyskiy Tiran - _Biblical Tyrant

_Mnogo - _A lot

_Dokazyvat' -_ Prove

_Dumat' -_ Think

_Mne - _Me

_Sdelayte eto__! - _Get it done

_Sila Molot - _Force of Sickle

_Razmer - _Size

_Bol'shiy - _Bigger

_Rosomakha - _Wolverines

_Etot dolbannyy zima - _This fucking winter

_T__eplyy_ - Warm

_Der'mo - _Shit


	3. Chapter Two

A Far Cry

Hammering the Sickle

Act One - The Narcissistic Cannibal

Chapter 2 - Proving Self Worth

Adam was just taking his first tentative steps from the head quarters when an old woman was hailing him from to her hut. Curious, he trudged over. Clearly a native to the area, she had brought him inside and granted him a bowl of soup, in which he humbly accepted. He was lead to small table, the seats were pillows surrounding the table, placed upon the ground. The old woman allowed him to eat in a hungry silence. When Adam was just a mere quite a few scoop fulls left of his bowl, the woman had tapped him gently on the shoulder. She lead him to her bed, where they had found a mortally wounded, old Fireheart rebel.

"Closer," the old man gasped in Adam's speech and beckoned, he still wore his uniform of intricate hues. Fireheart strewn in camouflage throughout the clothing. The young man found himself kneeling alongside the bed. "Have this," the man offered Adam his _khukri_. A long, well used, beautiful blade. Written, or carved, into the knife was some Russian characters. Naturally, Adam could not read it.

"It is not a hammer," the man coughed, "but it will deal out the _J__ustice_, all the same," he rasped some more and began a hacking fit. The old woman pushed Adam away.

"_Go, please_," she had asked working with the old man, "look upon my husband and know _why, Drako,"_ she seethed the name through gritted teeth, "_has no __kind heart._ He has torn the _zapad_ apart for his own selfish gains. _Not a care_, as he crushes the land _and_ its people underfoot. _Please, let justice finally, be done. Please, go."_ Adam kindly attempted to return his dish but the old woman gestured it off. She gently, ever so gently, nudged Adam to be on his way.

With that, Adam stepped free of the hut and finished his bowl in respectful quiet. When the end was done and he had found the energy to sustain him, he rested the dish at the foot of the hut and pushed off.

Drako was no _kin_. Adam had blundered into a mission that _would_ very change the outcome of his entire existence. _What am I even up against?_ He didn't know, but the warmth in his gut was more than the hot soup. _If what mom's note says to be true..._ This was _his_ country. Rightful heir to_, fucking, Russia._ The way it seemed; Drako had no part in it. _Shunned by his father..._ More than likely, the outcast of his _father's_ wishes and plans.

_Mystery solved..._ Adam's mother was a much of victim of Drako as were the people he oppressed. Drugged to death by the very thing creating her addictive mind. _Bibleyskiy Tiran, the Biblical Tyrant._ A name his matriarch would _scream_ about. Scrambling in night terrors from the very thing she birthed and then in the morning, speak actively to in hallucinogenic haze. _Drako ruined everything his presence was involved in!_

_This _is _my country. I'm taking it from you, _brother. _Piece by piece, the same thing you gave me every year for Christmas, a torn life._ Starting with a tower, six hundred meters away, in the dead chill of winter.

* * *

><p>He wasn't even five hundred meters out of Brokni, before the cold started to consume him. Leaving himself feeling as if his clothes were stitched with ice. Good news, he found the tower. All <em>Adam<em> had to was climb a sheer, icy cliff face. Going a couple dozen yards, roughly speaking, up into the air. He supposed he could find another way around but he was _freezing._

_I need to get this... done... Up and at 'em... Adam... _He began his ascent, narrowly missing grips or footholds, one or two along the way. He make's it to the top, without slipping. He found time to lay among the snow, letting the flakes from the weather float upon his damp, numb face. He could feel the iciness slip through his _warm_ clothing, it started sinking _deep_ into his bones.

_Gotta... get... teplyy. _Adam huddled himself into a ball, slow going, his limbs seem to have began to grow frozen. Worried, until he finally managed to fold himself tightly, rubbing his chest and rocking back, forth, to and fro. Attempting to stretch his limbs and warm his body.

_The tower..._ Adam had to look up, as much as he wanted to stay, he had to climb that thing, just a few meters away. White crystals poured and a thin fog laid about the area. A _faint, thick_ _growl_ penetrated the air. Something was _moving_ straight ahead of him. Black lines created a foreboding visage against the soft drifting.

_That's a fucking tiger._ The snow white, striped tiger stood, admiring Adam. She licked her chops and began to stalk towards him. Slowly at first, she knew she was already in sight, the pace escalated quickly. He couldn't _move_. He felt like a frozen, chipped art work. Frost bites him, soon the mighty feline may have a taste as well.

_She pounced, beautifully, gracefully, a true act of nature to be hold._ Only to find herself over the cliff. Adam had rolled away and was now singing a broad and victorious laugh. A loud, furious yelp of disdain echoed from the bottom of the face. Adam looked over, he could find nothing in the mists below.

_Bitch is still kicking?!_ Adam span around and scrambled towards the tower. He charged, _beautifully, gracefully_. It didn't matter how he found his way up to the top, the bars just seemed to find themselves the path upward, the tiger had found a path before and surely, can follow it again.

After locating the transmitter, near-top of the establishment. He pulled some wires free. Just like that, Drako's Brokni communications were out like a light. With some doing, he found the right ports, and rerouted the installs back to Viktir's station.

_"Hello...?" _Adam heard Viktirya's crack into the transmitter.

Adam pulled the radio from the tower and clicked, "this is Adam," he called back. There was a very long, anxious pause.

When he heard the radio click back, Viktirya was laughing, post hysterics. _"Well done, American! Come on back to Brokni! Need not to worry about those other towers now. We have more work to do!"_ He smirked as he could hear her restart laughing as she scrambled off.

Adam allowed himself a glorious grin and took the moments in. Sitting atop the structure, he had great view eastward. Something irked him suddenly, just then. He was sitting in a _huge_ _valley_. Brokni Ridge was a pathetic wall compared to the surrounding mountains. Building a massive dividing line for _Western Russia_, from the rest of the prying eyes of the world. He realized _he_ was inside a giant bowl and the soup has _just_ began cooking. However, reality always sinks its cruel teeth back in. A roar, a low, brooding challenge rumbled up from the base of the tower.

* * *

><p><span>Author's Note:<span> He has the _eye of the tiger!_

Translation Page:

_Khukri - _THAT'S a knoife!

_Zapad_ - West


End file.
